


The Best-Laid Plans

by stileskolpath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Derek Takes Care Of Stiles, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Scents & Smells, Some Humor, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Pain-Relief Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 08:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stileskolpath/pseuds/stileskolpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek takes care of Stiles after a nasty fight with a centaur. Whatever, it was totally Stiles’ fault anyway, for not following the goddamn plan. You’d think, after five years together, that they’d have this whole thing down to a science.</p>
<p>'“Aside from that not going at all according to plan, and me nearly getting myself killed,” Stiles shrugged, “You have to admit I was pretty badass.” He hissed as Derek readjusted the way he was supporting his weight, letting his foot graze the ground for a brief second.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best-Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wellnest aka firecracker452](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=wellnest+aka+firecracker452).



> For [Elin](http://firecracker452.tumblr.com) , who took a chance and bid on me and 2000 words of my work. In our discussion, she was wonderfully kind and super flexible. She wanted something hurt/comfort-related, with a bit of picture association with [this image here](http://www.imdb.com/media/rm3431967744/tt2084989?ref_=tt_ov_i) . So here's my best. 
> 
> I went over it half a dozen times to try and make it perfect, but I'm never satisfied with my work some days.
> 
> Nevertheless, here it is. Enjoy!
> 
> -SK

“Aside from that not going _at all_ according to plan, _and_ me nearly getting myself killed,” Stiles shrugged, “You have to admit I was pretty badass.” He hissed as Derek readjusted the way he was supporting his weight, letting his foot graze the ground for a brief second. The werewolf leveled a sidelong glare at him. He probably broke his stupid foot after all, and badass or not, the worst experience of Derek’s life was watching that centaur’s massive sword swing down over Stiles’ head in a way that would’ve torn a normal person in two. All because he just wouldn’t listen. He had to try one last time. The stupid, persistent little fuck.

Yeah, he’d managed to get his barrier up in time, and sure, the impact against it had completely disintegrated the giant, rough-hewn bastard sword in the beast’s hands. And yes, the resulting explosion of energy had essentially knocked him out cold, but the whole thing nearly gave Derek a heart attack. He was probably being over-dramatic, considering how often this sort of thing happened since Stiles gotten a handle on his powers, but even so, it took him a solid second of pure, desperate panic to push himself up off the ground, banish the ringing in his ears, and hone in on Stiles’ familiar heartbeat before he could breathe again.

“I told you not to be reckless,” Derek huffed out, pulling the door to the loft closed awkwardly underneath Stiles’ shouldered weight. He hobbled weakly to follow his mate’s movement and winced as his heel brushed the ground again. Keeping Stiles off of his probably broken foot was more difficult than it looked. “But you had to do it anyway. You should’ve stuck to the plan.”

“Well the plan sucked,” Stiles declared resolutely. “So I had to try, I couldn’t just sit by and watch you guys hem it in and kill it.”

“Centaurs are dangerous, Stiles,” Derek answered as the door clunked into the frame. “You knew that. You’re the one that did the research. You’re the one that found out that when they go rampant, they _kill_ people. Even if they don’t mean to. Letting it live would’ve put the entire town in danger.” Based on the information Stiles had uncovered, the beast probably could’ve done more than that, if its rampancy was left unchecked. The books Stiles had been poring over talked about entire cities torn apart by one of the beasts for days, before exhaustion and concentrated attack had finally brought them down.

“Still,” Stiles grumbled, as Derek eased him down the stairs, “I had to try to reason with it.” He was referring to when he recklessly threw himself between the pack and the bellowing centaur they’d managed to finally corral. The first time. That particular decision had earned Stiles a swift kick when the beast charged the makeshift ring the pack had formed around it. Luckily he’d managed to dive out of the way of the brunt of the hit, but his leg got clipped and he landed on it badly. Hence his current predicament. He winced again as they got to the bottom of the short flight of stairs leading away from the door, and Derek’s patience had lasted as long as it could.

“Wha- What’re you doing?” Stiles asked as Derek bent down and scooped him up into his arms with no more effort than someone would pick up a moderately heavy grocery bag.

“Gotta get you onto the bed,” he grunted, “And take a look at that foot.”

“Dude, the blood,” Stiles’ remarked as Derek settled him across his arms and began to head toward the bedroom. He was covered in a semi-dried mix of his own and centaur blood, shirt ruined and ripped in several places, shredded fabric clinging to the skin around several half-closed wounds.

“So?”

“So, if you put me into bed, it’ll ruin the sheets.” Derek shrugged, because sheets didn’t really matter when something in his Stiles was broken, or when he was practically covered in bruises, gashes, and other miscellaneous injuries. Sheets could always be washed, or even replaced. Other things could not.

“Where am I supposed to put you, then?” Derek raised an eyebrow, as he halted just past the bedroom’s entrance.

“Bathtub,” Stiles suggested quickly, pointing over his shoulder to the bathroom. Derek gave him a skeptical look. “Trust me, I used to use it all the time back when _you_ were the resident idiot in the pack and you’d show up at my window, all bloody and half-dead.” Derek rolled his eyes and headed for it, taking care to turn sideways through the narrow opening of the hallway.

“I was _never_ half-dead,” he snorted.

“Uh-hunh,” Stiles retorted a hint of sarcasm in his tone, “Tell that to the bloodstains you left on my carpet when you flopped onto it.”

“That happened _once_ ,” Derek growled, “And it wasn’t even that bad.”

“I still spent half the night trying to keep you from trying to die on me,” Stiles reasoned, eyes hazing over at the memory. “You wouldn’t stop bleeding, and you wouldn’t heal, and keeping you conscious was a goddamn uphill battle.”

“And if I recall, that was the night you professed your undying love for me too.”

“You’re mis-remembering,” Stiles smiled through the lie. It was a good sign. He wasn’t in so much pain that his ability to do _that_ was hindered. Derek relaxed, albeit only slightly, because he was still hurt, and it was still largely Derek’s fault that he was in this state. He never should’ve brought him out there with the rest of the pack. Even though his magic was useful in a pinch.

“I remember it very clearly, actually.”

“How? You were slipping in and out of consciousness, muttering incoherently to yourself and growling each time I tried to clean one of your injuries.”

Derek shrugged as he rounded the corner into the bathroom, and used an elbow to flick on the light. “I don’t know, actually.” It was a lie. He did. There was a voice in the darkness. It kept screaming at him to wake up. To come back. He didn’t listen until it had said those three little words, and sounded like it was going to shatter into pieces. It’d wrenched something free in his heart, and forced it to stammer back to life for good. That moment was forever ingrained in Derek’s memory. He’d never forget it, as long as he lived.

He grunted as he tried to shoulder the shower curtain aside and slip Stiles past it. Somehow he managed to graze his foot on something, making him yelp painfully and dig his fingers into Derek’s shoulders. His heart skipped several beats. _Fuck this_ , he thought as he craned his neck forward to catch the cheap plastic lining in his teeth. He snarled, and in one swift yank, ripped it free of its rings and deposited it on the floor. Stiles rolled his eyes and leveled a judgmental look at him when he spat it out.

“Seriously?”

“What?” Derek shrugged, “It was in the way.”

“Yeah, but I could’ve pushed it aside for you. There was no need to wolf-out on a perfectly innocent shower-curtain.”

Derek scoffed. “I didn’t wolf-out.”

“I saw fangs,” Stiles muttered, and Derek rolled his eyes, and gingerly lowering him into the tub. Stiles winced again as his weight settled home, and his foot eased against the bottom. Derek did too. He slipped his arms out from underneath Stiles’ body as gently as he could.

“Do you want me to-” he bared a forearm, pulling the sleeve of his henley up to the elbow, ready to leech the pain from Stiles’ veins. He’d done it before, if his mate’s injuries looked particularly painful, or if he was worried that he was going into shock or something. But Stiles shook his head and pushed himself up against the foot of the tub, gritting his teeth.

For the fight they’d just been through, he was surprisingly, almost disturbingly calm. Not to mention the fact that he was covered in a combination of his own and centaur blood, probably had a broken foot, based on the swelling that Derek could see around his ankle, and had used a huge amount of energy simply saving his own life, as well as those of Derek, Scott, Allison, and Isaac when he conjured that barrier. It was a wonder he was still even conscious. Hell, it was a wonder he was even alive. Derek sighed, because there was no getting around Stiles’ stubbornness. “It’ll help, you know.”

“I know,” Stiles answered, the smallest hint of pain cracking in his voice. “I’ll be fine.” The adrenaline was probably wearing off, and as seemingly unaffected he was by everything that’d happened that night, it was probably beginning to settle in, or so Derek thought. “Can you do me a favor though?”

Derek shrugged. “Anything.”

“The first-aid kit. Under the kitchen sink. Can you grab it for me?” He bit back a hiss as he leaned back against the base of the tub and began unbuttoning his ruined flannel shirt.

“Of course.” Derek laid a gentle hand over the crook of his neck, thumbing at the edge of his windpipe for a second before he got up and left. Despite the fact that he wasn’t going far, and that they were perfectly safe within the mountain-ash reinforced beams of the apartment, as well as the several protective enchantments Stiles had managed to place around the entire complex after the fiasco of his junior year, Derek couldn’t help but keep an ear trained on the human’s heartbeat. He was afraid that if he let it go for a second, he’d come back and it wouldn’t be there.

The cold panic from before settled briefly back into his veins.

He threw open the cupboard doors and searched around for the kit. For all the times that Stiles had patched him up with its contents, Derek couldn’t remember for the life of him what it looked like. When he finally did find the damn thing, it turned out to be just a small random duffel bag stuffed way in the back against the wall, behind all their cleaning supplies. It smelled faintly of wolfsbane, ash, mistletoe, silver, and assorted other things that seemed either poisonous or hazardous to anyone’s health, werewolf or otherwise. But it was the only thing down there that even remotely fit Stiles’ vague description, so Derek grabbed it and made his way back to the bathroom.

Where Stiles was clutching tightly to his ruined flannel shirt, and quietly sobbing into it.

Derek’s heart dropped to his knees. He didn’t even hear it. For all his stupid enhanced senses, the fact that he could smell just about everything in the whole apartment, and the fact that he’d been perfectly honed in on Stiles’ heartbeat for the last five minutes, Derek wondered how he could’ve missed that.

“Stiles?” He jerked upright, hands flying to his eyes. “Are you-” Derek’s voice faltered slightly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” He sniffled quickly, “D’you get the kit?” He was doing his best to hide the pain in his voice, which was fairly impossible given his crying. Derek furrowed his brow.

“Yeah.” He held up the small bag. “You sure you’re okay?” It was a redundant question. He knew that Stiles wasn’t.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he huffed, “It just hurt trying to get this shirt off.” It was a plausible explanation given the proliferation of bruises that covered his arms, and the few scrapes and gashes that had congealed with dried blood and probably stuck to the ruined garment. “Don’t worry about it.”

Derek sighed as he dropped the bag and sat down on the edge of the tub next to it.

“You know that’s not going to happen, right?” He asked, as he opened up the kit and pulled out a few of the basic things he’d need to clean Stiles up. Alcohol, gauze, bandages and some of the healing salve that Deaton had concocted to speed up human healing were among the needed items.

Stiles chuckled. It sounded pitiful through his stuffed-up nose. “Yeah, I’m familiar with you.” He knew, of course, that when it came to him, Derek always worried. He’d never _stop_ worrying. Even if he was perfectly safe and miles away from any danger. “I’m fine, though, really.” He gritted his teeth as Derek gently cleaned off the first set of gashes and applied the salve.

“You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?” He asked, tossing the ruined gauze into the trash can when he was finished.

Stiles sighed. “Yes, but mostly because-” he flinched as Derek brushed the edge of the next gash with the a corner of the gauze, “-Because you remind me every three minutes or so.” He sighed, letting out the breath he’d been holding while Derek tended to the injury.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Stiles shrugged and reached for the kit, probably meaning to help out. Derek grabbed his hand.

“Stiles-” He lowered his head to lock his mate’s eyes into his own. They were glassy, their big, amber-brown recesses wavering underneath a thin layer of moisture. “-What is it?”

He took a broken, emotion-laden breath, and wiped a knuckle across one eye.

“I didn’t want to do it, Der. I didn’t- When he looked up at me, I could see it in his eyes.”

“See what?” Derek slipped a hand around to the center of Stiles’ back as he worked, trying his best to be reassuring. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t working.

“He- he was scared.” Derek’s heart tried to strangle itself. “He was terrified, and I killed him.”

“You’ve done it before, though,” was all Derek could manage, as if it helped one bit.

“I know, but those things were usually, you know, evil, or something.” It was true. Usually the brand of supernatural attracted to Beacon Hills was dead-set on killing its inhabitants, or the small band of werewolves and humans that protected it. But the centaur had just roamed into the territory. It wasn’t malicious, or hell, even particularly intelligent. But corner or inadvertently threaten it, and the thing would run you down without a thought. There was no way to scare it off, or reason with it. The only way the pack could handle a beast that size was to kill it to keep it from harming anyone accidentally.

And Stiles had been the one to do that. When his barrier had stunned the thing, he’d gotten up, staggered over to the beast, and before it could rear, or even fully move again, pulled out the hunting knife Chris Argent had given him for his eighteenth birthday, and quickly stabbed it in the heart. It was fast and painless. Derek could attest to that. One second it was there, and the next, it was gone. All that was left in that corner of the clearing was Stiles’ lone heartbeat.

“Stiles, it was mid-rampage,” he reasoned. “The only reason you _could_ kill it was because the energy rebound from your barrier threw it twenty yards away and knocked it clean out.”

“Still,” Stiles protested with a half-sob, “I should’ve- I could’ve tried to save him.” Derek cut him off.

“You can’t think about it like that,” He snapped, rubbing his palm in a tight, emphatic circle over Stiles’ spine. He’d abandoned his cleaning of the larger gash on Stiles’ side. “If you start to think about what you should’ve done, or how you could’ve saved it, or something, you’ll beat yourself up about it forever.” Derek knew what that was like. He spent years doing the same thing after the fire. He’d thought about what he would’ve done if he was there, how he’d have tried to get everybody out, when in reality he’d have probably burned alive along with them. It consumed his mind, and nearly drove him mad. The only reason that hadn’t was currently bloodied up and sitting in his bathtub, going through the same thing.

Stiles sniffled, and Derek thought he could detect the smallest hint of a laugh between the sobs. “Who taught you that load of bullshit?”

He fought down a small grin. “Who do you think? Now scootch.”

Stiles looked up at him, confusion scrawled across his face. “Why?”

“Just shut up and do it,” Derek growled, setting aside the supplies. Stiles eased onto his side, careful not to move his foot too much, as Derek slid down into the basin next to him, and threaded his solid arms around his shoulders. The patches of skin where Stiles was bruised and cut were beginning to heat up as they started to aggressively heal. Thank god for Deaton’s salve. Gingerly, Derek squeezed, trying not to put too much pressure on any one wound, while Stiles curled into him, grateful for the added contact. He set his injured leg gently across Derek’s knees, and let his head settle into the crook of the werewolf’s neck.

“Your bedside manner needs work, Sourwolf,” he murmured into the skin. Derek could feel his cracked lips where they brushed against it.

“You already knew that I’m not very good at this.”

“I think you’re better than you think you are,” Stiles intoned, nuzzling against him as he sniffled meekly. “Especially right now.” He squirmed to fit himself deeper into Derek’s embrace.

“That’s because _right now_ doesn’t involve words.” Derek muttered, half-joking as Stiles’ warmth thrummed against him.

The human chuckled, a little heartier this time. Derek allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. “Well, you’ve got a point there.” Derek growled, his heart not really in it. “S’okay, though,” Stiles continued, shrugging. “Y‘don’t really need them.”

“Well _that’s_ good to know,” Derek intoned, rubbing a palm gently over his mate’s shoulder. Stiles nodded. Then there was silence. Derek sunk his nose deeply into the top of his head as he held him close, trying to bury himself in his mate’s familiar scent. It was tinged with sweat, blood, and soured slightly by pain, but it was still there. Still strong. The only sounds were his mate’s occasional sniffle and the slowly calming beat of his heart.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” Stiles offered finally, his voice still slightly broken.

Derek sighed.

Sometimes he really wished he hadn’t dragged Stiles into this life. Sometimes he wished that Scott had never been bitten, that Stiles remained ignorant of his presence, his story, and was able to live a happy, quiet life without ever having to worry about werewolves, druids, kanimas, centaurs, or the myriad other random supernatural creatures that seemed to make their way to Beacon Hills. At least then he wouldn’t be hurt all the time. At least then he wouldn’t feel this way. Because even those fights that ended with no injuries, no bruises or scrapes or gashes, they still left some kind of pain. It was a kind of tired, aching sore that gnaws on your very soul.

“I know,” Derek agreed, a note of sadness in his voice. “You know,” he ventured, “You won’t hurt my feelings if- if you can’t-” Stiles cut him off by pressing gentle lips to the underside of his jaw.

“Don’t even think about it, dude,” He remarked, as if he knew the thoughts that were forming in Derek’s head. Which he probably did. “I may never get used to it, but I’m not going anywhere.” Derek’s heart suddenly swelled against his ribs.

“You sure?” He asked, despite his better judgment, “I don’t want to see you hurt like this.” He squeezed Stiles closer to him, as gentle as he could. Stiles used the heel of his hand to wipe away a stray tear. “I’d rather see you happy somewhere else, with… _someone_ else, than here in pain all the time.”

“Derek,” Stiles sighed, almost exasperated, “When are you going to get it through your thick, werewolf skull that there will never, _ever_ , be someone else that makes me as happy as you do?”

Derek didn’t have an answer for that. He still couldn’t believe that Stiles had fallen for him, of all people, all those years ago, and actually stuck around.

“And no matter where I am,” he continued, “Or what shit we’re going through, or what kind of pain I’m in, you’ll _always_ make me happy.”

“Really?” Derek cocked his head back to bring Stiles’ face into view.

“Yeah,” he answered matter-of-factly. “Nothing will ever change that.” And with that, he leaned up and slotted Derek’s lips into their usual, rightful place between his own. Derek smiled. Because as long as he had Stiles there, pressed deep into his mouth, wrapped firmly in his arms, inserted so haphazardly in his life, he was happy too. “And I’ll do my best to stick to the plan from now on.”

Derek scoffed, settling back into the kiss.

“No you won’t. But you need to be more careful next time.” He was never going to stop worrying about Stiles, or being fiercely over-protective of him, not with the luck he’d had in the past.

“I can’t promise anything.”

Derek rolled his eyes as the residual warmth of his mate’s mouth began to slip down his throat and into his chest.

“Well just promise me you’ll think before you go throwing yourself headlong into a fight like that in the future.”

“That sounds oddly familiar.” Stiles grinned.

“It should. You forced me to make a similar promise several years ago,” Derek replied. And he’d kept it, as much as he could.

“Well, if your life is at stake, all guarantees go out the window.”

“That goes two ways, you know.”

“I know.”

Derek leaned back in to bring their lips together again, mostly because he couldn’t resist it any longer. The kiss was deep, slow, gentle, and began to stir something deep within Derek’s chest as Stiles pressed into him. He threaded one hand out from within Derek’s arms to ease under the hem of his shirt, skin-on-skin contact forcing a small, high, almost-growl from the werewolf’s lips.

Stiles smiled. His scent was suddenly devoid of the sour tinge of pain it’d carried since they left the preserve. He pressed harder into Derek’s mouth, and even worried at his bottom lip with the edge of his teeth. Derek groaned.

And then he forgot how to breathe. All his air, his blood, the electricity coursing through his nerves, it was all _Stiles_. Derek couldn’t help but pull them tighter, so that they were tangled, curved together like one person. For a long moment, they stayed there, hearts beating in time, until Stiles whimpered out a half-pained sound.

“What is it?” Derek whispered, nostrils flaring at the sudden heady-ness of Stiles’ scent. Everything he owned was on fire, and it all wanted Stiles. _Needed_ him.

“My foot. It still hurts pretty bad.”

Derek chuckled. “We can always do this later, when you’re feeling up to it,” he offered. Somewhere deep inside, his wolf whined. He found new purchase for his hands.

“Absolutely not.” Stiles gave a small, huffed-out laugh, all traces of his earlier sadness gone from his eyes as he pulled his mouth along the cord of muscle in Derek’s neck.

“Still, we don’t have to-”

“Derek?” Stiles asked, as he sucked quick-dissolving bruises into the werewolf’s skin. He growled in response. It was the only sound he was capable of making. “Shut up.”

At this point, there was pretty much nothing that Derek wouldn’t do for Stiles, not when his lips were pressed into his skin like that, or his hips were digging into his own, or his big, amber-brown eyes were giving him that soft, needful look that was threatening to tear him apart. But he spoke anyway.

“Don’t ever do anything stupid like that again,” he intoned, the words kind of falling out of his mouth of their own accord. “ _Ever_ again, actually. I can’t lose you, Stiles. I won’t. You’re my mate, and I love-”

Stiles didn’t let him finish. It’d all been said before anyway. He slipped a hand around the back of Derek’s neck and pulled their lips together once more.

“I love you too,” he murmured into Derek’s mouth.

\--

“Wow,” Stiles sighed, when it was all said and done, “My foot feels a lot better.” He was half on-top of Derek, wrapped in his arms, breathing still heavy and wrecked. He was trailing the tip of a finger through the beads of sweat that had collected in the dip of Derek’s chest, legs tangled among his. The gashes Derek had treated with Deaton’s salve were already kneading themselves together. Their clothes were scattered haphazardly across the floor of the bathroom, hastily torn off and tossed aside. Derek’s nose was buried in Stiles’ sex-wild hair, breathing in steady, deep lungfuls of his scent, now wonderfully muddled with his own.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I guess it wasn’t broken after all.”

Derek hesitated. “Well that’s good, I guess,” he ventured, wondering how it’d go when Stiles tried to stand up and found out that was probably not true.

“I guess Peter was right.”

“Words I never want to hear after sex with you, please,” Derek replied, scrunching up his face in disgust. The last thing he wanted to think about right now, with Stiles’ naked body wrapped around him, was his crazy uncle. Would totally ruin the moment. Stiles blinked as he rolled his eyes. Derek could feel the motion of his eyelashes against his chest.

“You know what I mean, dude. The whole human-contact-helping-with-pain thing.”

“Oh, right, _that_.” Derek was thankful he hadn’t caught on to the fact that he’d been leeching the pain from his veins for the last hour. The jig would be up as soon as they broke contact. So basically he’d just have to touch Stiles forever in order to keep his secret.

It sounded like as good a plan as any.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hopefully you enjoyed it!
> 
> If you'd like to check out some of my other work, or other Sterek awesomeness, feel free to stop by [my blog](http://watchthewolvesrun.tumblr.com) .
> 
> Thanks again for reading!
> 
> -SK


End file.
